


Revelations

by Resoan



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition AU [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, WILL Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3243056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Inquisitor’s encounter in the Fade with Mythal, the elven goddess visits both Fena’dea and Abelas; the pair are not allowed much time to compare notes before Corypheus attacks one final time, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Abelas tends to change his name when life-altering events happen - Ama literally means to protect in elven, and is the name we’ve decided on for Abelas before Mythal’s demise. Also, Enera does not belong to me, but my friend who has been helping construct this AU.

It seemed as though half of Skyhold knew when Morrigan and the Inquisitor disappeared into the witch's eluvian; Leliana had run from the garden, searching out one of the Inquisitor's mage companions who might better know what to do in such a scenario. Information was the redhead's specialty, but this was a blind spot, and if she'd followed into the mirror, she was half-certain she'd only make things worse.

Despite what had gone on at Crestwood after the Arbor Wilds, Solas frowned when he learned of the news, and Dorian insisted on coming as well – all for the sake of helping their dear Inquisitor of course, and not simply sating his curiosity in obscure magics. The pair followed after Leliana, creases of worry marring otherwise smooth brows, though Enera and Fena'dea were already standing in front of the eluvian when they appeared, the former looking at is curiously while Fena'dea felt just slightly out of place – magic was not her area of expertise after all.

“Should we follow?” Leliana was the first to speak, and Enera looked as though she were about to reach out and pull Solas back when he drew closer to the mirror, a hand outstretched. “They might be in terrible danger.”

“Or our interference might _put_ them into further danger,” Solas noted as he drew back, grey gaze turning over his shoulder until he found Leliana's.

“So we just stand here and _hope_ they return?” Fena'dea was the one to turn to him, her expression a touch hostile – she had yet to forgive Solas for his actions that had left the Inquisitor depressed of late, and she sincerely doubted her feelings would change in the near future. Mercifully, the blue light of the mirror pulsed just before Morrigan strode out, her arm around her son's shoulders; a dark, perfectly-manicured eyebrow lifted when she took notice of all those present, though she was unable to pose her question before the Inquisitor followed a few moments later, the presence of so many catching her off-guard.

“Ah, good! So glad to see you weren't lost behind a mirror for all time,” Dorian japed with a goodnatured smile, and Fena'dea was personally pleased to see Velahari's lips loosen into a smile, however weak. A tacit exchange occurred with only a few glances and expressions between Morrigan and Leliana, and the redhead nodded once it ended: she was no longer needed, and she inclined her head at the Inquisitor before slipping away. The redhead's gaze turned abruptly towards Fena'dea, however, and as the brunette narrowed her eyes curiously, Velahari gestured for her to follow before slipping past everyone else – not even sparing a glance Solas even as she walked past him.

Morrigan rolled her eyes and did nothing to stifle her sigh as Enera asked her several questions concerning the eluvian, the witch sealing the portal as Kieran giggled and Morrigan eventually gave the elf her answers. Dorian's gaze cut towards Solas then; of course he bloody well knew about the _tiff_ the pair had had, though he hadn't pried the details from Velahari – it was clear she was still hurting, and Solas had never been terribly forthcoming in the first place. “What did you _do_?” Dorian wasn't angry, not yet, but he was dumbfounded; for a long while, the pair had been so sickeningly sweet he'd made it a point to step out of the library when the Inquisitor came calling on her elven consort.

At first, Dorian didn't think Solas would answer at all; the elf was currently still, his expression unreadable – all save his eyes. It didn't seem to matter when Dorian looked: his eyes always appeared to be filled with sorrow. Was he the only one to think this entire separation pointless? Whatever lie Solas had told the Inquisitor to drive her away hurt the both of them, and for the life of him, Dorian couldn't even begin to imagine _why_ ; part of him was furious beyond reason, and had it not been such a Cassandra thing to do, he may have demanded answers from the elf, or swung a punch.

“Allow the past to remain where it is, Dorian,” Solas answered quietly, in so soft a tone the Tevinter mage had to strain to hear it at all. “ _Please_.”

 _You're throwing happiness away with both hands, stubborn fool_. Dorian audibly huffed, though Solas either ignored it or simply didn't hear as he turned and strode from the room without a backward glance.

 

* * *

 

Velahari led Fena'dea down the main corridor in Skyhold and up to her quarters, the rogue curious though she didn't ask questions – not yet. Something must have happened on the other side of the eluvian, something private Velahari did not want to share with everyone who'd been crowded around when she returned. It was difficult to drive away the memories that came to the rogue as the pair made it into Velahari's chamber: when the redhead had broken down in her arms and fallen asleep only after she'd cried herself exhausted.

“Fena'dea,” Velahari began uncertainly, the sound of the mage's voice instantly causing purple eyes to snap up in her direction. “I know this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous, but the eluvian was somehow linked directly to the Fade.” Fena'dea felt her stomach settled somewhere in the vicinity of her knees – their trip into the Fade at Adamant had not been an occurrence she cared to relive. “It's not just that, though. Asha'bellanar was waiting for us, only...it wasn't _just_ Asha'bellanar.” Velahari had taken a seat on her bed since beginning, and Fena'dea took a step closer, brown eyebrows tugging together disbelievingly. “Lethal'lan, she claimed to have a piece of Mythal within her, part of her fragmented _soul_.”

Had anyone else tried to tell Fena'dea such a ridiculous story, the rogue would not have believed it; even so, she was skeptical – at least, until the voices from the Well of Sorrows began to murmur and she understood their words for agreement with Velahari's information. Mythal had been all but slain in her temple, but somehow her being had been fragmented, and bits and pieces of her still managed to float around Thedas: clinging to relevance until such a time when vengeance was within her grasp. “She...asked after you,” Velahari continued, and _that_ caught Fena'dea's attention. The rogue promptly froze in place, breath knocked from her lungs as though she'd been caught in a lunge from an enemy right in the gut.

“She claims she has something which will help us defeat Corypheus, but only you will be capable of finding it and using it.” _The well_. How else would Mythal know of Fena'dea in particular? Her thoughts raced, her heart pounded, and while she knew Velahari was only trying to help, to explain, Fena'dea needed to be alone – or as much as she could be, given the legion voices and presences that refused to be silent as she abruptly turned and fled out the door.

 _Shut **up**_. Information seemed to pour into her mind in an overload, and she paid no one any mind as she sought out a quiet, clandestine place where she wouldn't be found; an abandoned tower along the battlements proved adequate, and she sat in one of the corners, her forehead resting on her knees. She would never regret drinking from the Well of Sorrows, not when it meant Velahari wouldn't have to endure the dangers, but she hadn't anticipated the mental or emotional toll it would take on her either. She despised how weak it made her feel, despised how her hands trembled even as they clenched at her sides, her head falling back to the stone wall as she forced deep, even breaths into her lungs.

“ _Do not fear me, Child. I mean no harm.”_ The voice echoed in her thoughts, striking something deep inside of her until her fear dissipated and she breathed easier than she had before ever setting eyes on the Temple of Mythal. “ _There is a grove to the east housing a shrine dedicated to me. Find it, and summon its guardian. Prove your worth, and she will guard you as fiercely as any god_. _Fail, and the world succumbs to the delusions of its own would-be god._ ”

Just as abruptly as the voice began, it disappeared; the voices from the Well were silent for a time, perhaps in awe of the goddess to whom their lives had been dedicated, but eventually, Fena'dea stood and left her corner: feeling utterly foolish for allowing fear to overcome her.

 

* * *

 

While Abelas would never admit it to Fena'dea, that night when she arrived for more direction in sorting through the information of the Vir'abelasan, her focus was impeccable; her demeanor was more subdued than usual, and he'd even gone without the rakish grin and sarcasm – two things the ancient never thought he would miss when they were abruptly taken from him. It was strange to see the more serious side of her, and while Abelas certainly appreciated the lack of jokes and time wasted on her antics, there was a queer...feeling that left him unsettled even as she recalled to mind things he himself had nearly forgotten during his millenia of slumber.

It took every ounce of self-control the elf possessed not to stop her from immediately leaving once he deemed them through for the evening: to ask what had prompted the change in her, though he let her stride away nonetheless. Part of him was reprimanding, loudly telling him not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, but the other was...concerned? It had been ages since he'd felt anything remotely similar, and it was as confusing as it was alarming. He hadn't come here to make friends: he had come to see that the Well's knowledge was not abused, preserved in such a way to honor the memory of Mythal, even if it was no longer housed in her once-great temple. Fena'dea had somehow managed to wriggle her way into his thoughts, with seemingly little effort on her part, and that thought had Abelas even more irritated and affected than he had been a moment before.

Eventually, he returned to the bed he'd commandeered as his own: cut off from all others just as he preferred. Once he was able to clear his thoughts, sleep came easily, as soft and inviting as a lover awaiting him and enveloping him in a warm embrace.

 _Abelas_. His name echoed, ringing within him with as resounding a sound as a bell clanging, though when he turned to look, he saw nothing.

 _Abelas_. Again, he turned to look for the source, but only as he turned back did he see a shemlen standing near him, the lines on her face marking her as older. It was her eyes that drew his attention, though: a golden yellow, gleaming with justice – just like ones he'd seen so many years ago.

His own eyes widened, and almost as if reflex, Abelas dropped to his knees, a combination of relief and guilt welling up within his chest. “Ir abelas, Mamae. I could not save you. Forgive me, Mythal. I failed you.” Flemeth's expression softened and she slowly, deliberately moved until she was kneeling across from him, the touch of her hand on his shoulder earning a shudder down the sentinel's spine.

“You failed nothing and no one, Ama,” Mythal murmured, her voice warm and soft as Abelas's eyes lifted disbelievingly. “My demise was beyond anyone's control. Do not torment yourself any longer.” She helped him back to his feet, and for a few moments the two merely exchanged gazes; “I see you've made your way into the Inquisition. Good.” She inclined her head, and a bark of laughter escaped her lips at Abelas's reaction. “They will need your help, Abelas – your wisdom and experience. I know you will not fail them.”

Her figure began to fade then, and her frown was deep, eyes full of sorrow; “And now it is time. Prepare yourself well, child; the road ahead is filled with danger.” Before Abelas could think to try and stop her, she was gone: slipped through his fingertips just like before. A frustrated cry left his lips then, and a moment later he found himself awake: angry and anxious and far too aware to try and sleep anymore. His feet slid to the ground, legs tossed over the side of his bed, and for a moment, Abelas allowed his head to fall into his hands, the hood of his cloak falling to the back of his neck.

Such dreams came to mages, but the question remained: was it truly a dream, or a vision? He had been so certain it had been Mythal to speak to him, but the Fade was a tricky place that by its very nature was unworthy of trust: too many shifting phantasms and spirits to ever wholeheartedly believe something one might say to comfort or lure a mortal mind away from his true purpose. With another angry growl, Abelas stood, hands mechanically reaching to pull his hood back across his head; perhaps the Inquisitor's elvhen companion would have answered Abelas himself did not possess: he could distinctly remember how remnants of the Fade clung to the man even amidst all the chaos in the Temple.

It did not occur to Abelas that the other elf might be slumbering himself until he was already poised outside of the rotunda, golden eyes cutting across the main chamber suspiciously until he was assured no one's eyes were on him: watching and observing. Still, as the door opened, light flooded into the small hallway connecting the room to the main hall, and Abelas stepped quietly – he was half-surprised when Solas looked up from the book he'd been reading given how silently he'd been treading closer.

“Abelas,” Solas greeted, tone ever-polite even if Abelas could detect the weariness as well. “It is late, Lethal'lin.”

The ancient merely inclined his head, both an acknowledgment and an apology, though he did not falter in his step; he'd come here for a reason, after all, and it was telling that Solas was still awake to offer what insight he could into the nature of Abelas's...dream. “You are well-versed in dreams, in the goings-on of the Fade.” It was not a question, not technically, though Solas merely narrowed his eyes curiously before nodding. “Have you noticed anything...strange lately, when you slumber?”

Golden eyes glimmered in the flickering candlelight, and for a long moment, there was only silence as Solas processed such a question. “The Breach has created an on-going disturbance in the Fade, not to mention the link between our worlds. What specifically has troubled you, Lethal'lin?”

“Mythal came to me,” Abelas explained, eyes finding Solas's and not once averting; “Or, a very convincing spirit in her form came to me.” The expressions that came across Solas's face at such a proclamation made little sense when Abelas took the time to consider them; at first, there was nothing: a simple acceptance that did not question Abelas's claim: shock and disbelief came later, and though Abelas's eyebrows furrowed, Solas spoke before he had the opportunity to question aloud.

“Did Mythal not perish in her own temple? You said as much yourself,” Solas pointed out, and Abelas shook his head, just a bit of a miserable expression dragging his lips into a deep frown.

“I would not have believed had I not stood before her myself,” Abelas murmured, eyes veering down to the top of Solas's desk; and while Abelas may not have seen it, something like guilt streaked across Solas's face before he heaved a quiet sigh, shut the book he'd been reading with a _snap_ , and gestured for Abelas to take a seat across from him.

“Perhaps she found a way to keep a part of herself real,” Solas offered, and even to Abelas, such a suggestion sounded impossible, even if they were speaking of the goddess Mythal. “There are stories of souls being fragmented, of being passed between willing hosts if something were to happen to physical bodies. Is it so ludicrous to believe Mythal knew of such things, and ensured her existence would endure should something happen to her?”

The elf seemed to forget to whom he spoke: one of Mythal's inner circle, who knew most if not all of the goddess's secrets; the idea of sharing souls or even fragmenting them was not something even he himself had discovered easily, and that Solas had managed to find them supposedly of his exploration of the Fade... Abelas could not help it as his eyes narrowed, though in Solas's exhaustion, he did not notice. “Perhaps...perhaps you are correct.” Abelas inclined his head in thanks and stood then, Solas only just managing to stifle a yawn before returning the gaze with a nod of his own.

Abelas did not find sleep again that night; his thoughts were understandably in tangles not only from Mythal, but from the Inquisitor's companion Solas as well. How could any one person know so much of the ancient elves simply be waltzing into the Fade at any given moment? Gems of information were rarer to come by than physical ones in the real world, and the more Abelas considered, the more it made sense that Solas was not as simple or ignorant as he likely wanted others to believe. Did Mythal know him before she'd been struck down? Had he been a citizen of the empire? A slave whose vallaslin had been removed? He might even have considered the possibility of his identity as one of the gods, but they'd been sealed away for millenia now: there was no way they could have freed themselves, least of all without alerting the entire world to their presence once more – Elgar'nan in particular would have announced such a thing with as garish and obvious a ceremony as he could.

The thought refused to leave him even as the sun dawned and the new day came; it infested his mind like a virus, and even when Fena'dea appeared in the garden for their time in deciphering the Well of Sorrows, she could tell he was distracted. “Aren't you usually the one to tell me to focus?” she inquired, though even as the question had started out japing, the lack of real recognition in his expression of it sobered her rather quickly. “Abelas.” Hearing his name forced him to blink, and he looked down at her, almost uncertain as to when she arrived. “What's wrong?” Gone was her sarcasm, her incessant need to jape and crack jokes, and instead was the mature, thoughtful woman she carefully hid underneath – he'd never understand why it wasn't the other way around.

Unfortunately, Abelas had no opportunity to answer Fena'dea's question before a queer sound caught their attention; it was not an explosion, not exactly, but the buzzing reminded Fena'dea faintly of bees, until it grew and pale tendrils of green played across her skin. The pair of them looked up from where they stood in the garden, and Fena'dea's heart sank; the Breach loomed menacingly in the sky, and it seemed to be growing – which only meant one thing. “Corypheus has returned.” Her words were spoken with an iron resolve, and when she turned to move past Abelas, his hand inexplicably shot out and grabbed her upper arm; something seized within him, a panic and concern he hadn't felt since first seeing Mythal falter in her own temple, and Fena'dea's expression softened when she glanced up into his eyes. “Don't worry,” she murmured, the corners of her lips twisting upwards despite herself.

 _Don't be foolish_ , Abelas wanted to say, even as he knew the words would be the most obvious of lies. Whatever desire to speak Abelas possessed was abruptly set aside as she twisted around and pressed her lips tightly to his, desperate and nervous and fearful, though before he could react, she was gone, and his heart ached.

 

* * *

 

Abelas paced in Skyhold's courtyard, unable to keep himself still as he feared for Fena'dea's safety; he should have gone with the Inquisitor and her entourage – should have added his ability and knowledge to theirs, and he tried desperately to block out Mythal's warning from his dream the previous night. What if they failed because he'd been too foolish to go with them? What if yet another died because of his failed promises?

It didn't matter that almost everyone eyed him curiously, _suspiciously_ even; all that mattered was that the quest was a success, and she returned whole and in-tact. Since first making such a realization, Abelas had stopped feeling alarmed by it; never once in his entire life had he ever found himself entangled in feelings of a romantic nature, and he was hopelessly out of his depth. Still, such a thing wouldn't matter if Corypheus ended up slaying her, would it? His thoughts were running in circles, and though he recognized it and hated how it made him feel, he could do little to stifle them.

The sound of trumpets and triumphant shouts were what eventually stilled him in place, and while companions and well-wishers converged on the Inquisitor – who looked noticeably pained and lost – golden eyes sought out a different elf. Agitation forced a scowl onto his features as he continued looking fruitlessly, though it did figure she brought up the rear with the dwarf, both of whom were flaked with blood but otherwise unharmed. “Ah...I think Smiley wants a word with you, Needles,” Varric informed Fena'dea with a sly grin, and the brunette looked towards Abelas before her face broke out into a smile. It was not a smile solely for his sake, though: it was the high of battle, the adrenaline, the rush of _winning_ , of defeating a foe who'd threatened the safety of everyone in the world.

Even so, his heart noticeably flipped in his chest, and when she was close enough to him, his arms reached out for her until she was pressed against him; _You're safe, whole,_ Abelas tried telling himself, though the best reassurance was when her own arms slid around his shoulders and her head nestled into the space just below his chin. “I didn't think you'd worry this much,” she whispered, and truly, Abelas could only agree with her; she vexed him regularly, found a way under his skin until he could do little else but focus on her, but it was more than just irritation he felt.

She pulled away slowly and gently, and even then Abelas's arms remained around her: he was not yet willing to let her go; Fena'dea did, however, blink in surprise when pale, spindly fingertips found her cheek. If there were silent, grudging tears at the corners of his eyes, Fena'dea was never allowed the opportunity to mention them; the hand on her cheek slid around her jaw until it found the back of her neck, fingertips sliding between soft tendrils of her hair and angling her head just slightly as he leaned down.

Breath shuddered in his lungs at the initial contact, though it didn't last: he couldn't breathe at all as the kiss continued; she had wholly consumed him, he was just discovering, and as she began to respond, only one word resounded within him.

_Mine._


End file.
